


laid to rest

by TeagueBlack



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Other, Spoilers, Talking To Dead People, it's not much alcohol though it's just a bit, let Sylvain mourn please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 17:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20952458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeagueBlack/pseuds/TeagueBlack
Summary: Miklan was buried on the same battlefield where he was slain. Sylvain tries to say a final goodbye, but all he can do is call him an asshole.





	laid to rest

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that they at least buried Miklan before they left. It's the least they could do for him, and personally, I think Sylvain still found it in himself to love his brother, because he's a fucking compassionate fool.

The crunching of his boots on dirt, followed by his footsteps on stone stairs; these are all Sylvain hears as he approaches his brother’s grave. He’d have buried him on Gautier soil, but his father never would have allowed it, which is kind of a final insult to Miklan himself, but insults don’t really carry any weight when they’re hurled against a dead man. 

He sits, gazing at the axe and small stones that mark the grave. A bandit is buried wherever he dies, and rarely does he ever get a headstone. 

“Hey, asshole,” he manages to get out before a harsh laugh comes from him. “Nah. Can’t really say that, can I? Gotta respect the dead, after all.”

He can almost see Miklan giving him the finger. Then again, he’s sure Miklan would love nothing more than to drag him into the earth with him, so he decides to try again. 

“Miklan.” He smooths a hand against the handle of the axe, still amazed that no one has stolen it yet. It’s a perfectly good axe, one that used to be Miklan’s, and it still has that weird coat-of-arms that he used to bear, tied to its handle (by him, by a bandit, he doesn’t remember).

“You suck at designing.”

Another pause. “I don’t like talking shit about you. But I’m always cleaning up your messes, and you’ve always been, well, an _ asshole. _” With a sigh, he uncaps the flask he’s been holding all this time.

“Still...I don’t blame you. If you had the Crest, I wouldn’t even exist at all.” Their parents have always been pragmatic, and the only reason they’d had him was to get what they wanted when their first attempt failed. 

He raises the flask and pours liquor over the stones, the axehead, the earth which Miklan lies under. He’d seen him swipe some from the cellar back then, but he’d never told on him, because sometimes their parents brought up a bottle of that and had gotten all happy, so he’d concluded it was a happy drink and Miklan needed some happiness in his life, too—

(Once, he asked him for some, so he could be happy with Miklan too. Miklan had just laughed and told him people only drank this when they were sad, when they wanted to forget. Judging by that unsteady gait and the sad smile on his face, he must’ve been drunk because Miklan never, ever, smiled at him.)

“You like it? I have no idea why.” Sylvain puts the flask to his lips and takes a sip, his nose wrinkling at the acrid taste. “It’s awfully bitter. Like you. Like me, kinda.”

He and Miklan are both alike and different. Alike, because Crests have messed with their lives. 

Different, because they each walked a different path in the end. 

“Miklan. **Miklan**. _ Miklan_.” He tries his name in different tones. Neutral, harsh, somber. He hasn’t gotten to say his name to him in a fond tone, ever, because his brother never gave him a reason to. Then again, Miklan’s never said his name with anything more than disdain. 

When has Miklan called him anything other than a _ Crest-bearing fool, _anyway?

“My brother,” he finally says, “you are a fucking asshole. I hate you, and I love you.”

Maybe in another life, it could’ve been them against their parents, against the damn Crests that bind. Maybe in another life, they could’ve been brothers in more than just blood. 

Sylvain stands, empties the rest of the liquor, drops the empty flask, and leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish Miklan and Sylvain had a different sibling relationship, even though I did like the one they had in canon as well. I can't help but feel Miklan had great potential as a character...


End file.
